Momma
by FerrisWheeling
Summary: Vriska and Spidermom have the closest thing to bonding time as they know how to do. ONESHOT


_Not too sure how I feel about this one, but..._

_Idea is not mine. I was dicking across the vast and alluring expanse of tumblr and found a short comic revolving around this general topic. I never figured out who did it, and do not know where it scampered off to. So just know that the idea is not my own. _

Trolls don't really have a word for this feeling, this feeling you are sick with right now. 'Comfort' could come close to fitting the bill, and, basically, that is what you want. But it isn't quite comfort. Reassuring words aren't going to cut it and you haven't a notion what will.

Humans don't really have a word for this either, but they at least have a scenario to associate it to. When you're so small and so frightened, and everything hurts, and nothing short of eternal death could stop you from hugging your mother around the knees and crying. That's what you feel right now. But you don't have a concept of what a mother is. You don't even know what the word means.

Nevertheless, you are driven from your bloody block and down the long staircase toward the closest thing you have to a maternal genetics supplier. You want to feel happy, because technically you just won but winning isn't sweet every time. It isn't sweet when you're leaking a trail of blue blood from your face and the place your arm used to be. It isn't sweet when the first person you've ever actually given two damns about is blind and it's all your vengeful fault. Winning stopped being awesome a while back and now it just sucks.

When you conquer the stairs and reach the outdoor landing, your lusus is waiting there as she always is. Her eight white eyes blink at you as you sink down to your knees, head hanging. You feel the need to say something, even though you aren't quite sure if she has ears or not. Spider anatomy is a mystery.

"I'm sorry." No, that isn't the right thing to say. You never did a thing to her. "Wait, fuck, no, that's not it. I...I'm...I just really fucked up and I don't know what I'm doing."

Her eyes click open and shut a few times, observing you. Her head tilts to the side.

"I know you raised me better than this." With you remaining arm, you gesture to the mess you are now. The weak, pitiful mess of the tyrannical Marquise you were once. It's disgusting, really, and you have no excuse. "I guess I'm sorry that I let this happen." What could you have done? Who the hell knows. But there must have been some slimy trick you could have pulled at the last minute.

Her pincers click together and she leans in, raising her two front legs out to you. You watch the movements tiredly and with significantly less depth perception that you are used to. Maybe it's the loss of blood, or maybe it's the pain, but it takes you too long to figure out what's going on.

"Wait!" You screech, falling backwards, your legs kicking around beneath you. Her legs stretch closer, the curved hooks on her feet big enough to hold you. "No! It's me; it's Vriska! Okay?"

Maybe spiders don't have ears; fuck if you know. She doesn't appear to recognize what you say, or just recognize you at all. All she knows is that there is a young troll before her, beaten and bleeding, and she is probably pretty hungry. She thinks you're her dinner.

"Vriska! I'm Vriska! I'm not your fucking food." You scoot back a little before teetering over; balancing is much harder with only once arm. She looms closer; you can see your bleary reflection on her great pale claw. "Don't...please..."

She scoops you up in the rigid cradle of her claw and draws you closer to her face. You squirm but she holds you firmly in place. There is no escaping. You're going to be spider food and maybe, just maybe, a failure such as yourself deserves it.

You curl up in her claw, tucking your head down into your chest and letting out a tiny whimper. You won't cry, but it would be hell not to whimper.

In front of her glowing face, you feel a sting of pity for all of the victims you brought to her. This is pretty dang terrifying, you have to admit. And you forced people through this on a daily basis. Does that make you a monster? Probably. But you were just doing what you knew how to do.

You relax slightly when you aren't torn apart by the deathtrap your lusus has as a mouth. You open your remaining eye and see four of hers staring at you. She blinks. You blink.

"Hey." You croak. She draws you closer, close enough that you could just...reach out...and...and...

And she isn't going to eat you, you realize. She knows you are hurting, she knows you aren't okay in your head or your body. She's doing what any quasi-empathetic being would do; she's trying to comfort you, and you thought she was going to kill you.

With your remaining arm, you awkwardly hug her huge face, tucking yourself under her eyes. She makes a weird churring sound and rocks you closer.

Though life is far from being okay, you think you might just be able to get by.


End file.
